Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance)

by White, Pat

  “It was a late night.”

  Curt started to lunge for Jason, but Sandy blocked him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. He didn’t do anything. He’s here because I’m responsible for him. He was released from jail into my custody.”

  “From jail?” Curt’s voice broke.

  “He’s Jack the Stripper. Didn’t Duke tell you what happened? The Stripper was brought in for questioning by the Feds, and Lou got him released in BAM’s custody, only Cosmo is nowhere around when you need him, and Lou had a hot date so they sent Stripper home with me.”

  “Jason,” he said. “My name is Jason.”

  “Also known as Jack the Stripper,” she corrected. “Look.” She gripped her brother’s arms. “Everything’s okay. I’m okay. Nothing happened here besides the cat having a psycho moment. You know how she gets. Decker surely knows.”

  All three of them glanced at Decker, who visibly blushed at the reference.

  If that pea brain was remembering Sandy in nothing but her lace panties and bra, J was going to rip his heart out through his chest.

  “Everyone, calm down.” She was looking at Jason as if she read his thoughts.

  J stood and leaned forward slightly as if readying for another assault.

  “He’s Jack the Stripper?” Curt confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t...” Curt shook his head.

  “He didn’t,” she said.

  Well, if he didn’t, then what the hell did she call last night?

  Keep a lid on it, McBain. She was using you, remember?

  “Huh.” Curt visibly relaxed, leaning against the back of the couch.

  “You sure this guy didn’t hurt you?” Decker took a few steps toward them.

  J glared. Decker stopped short.

  “Are you kidding?” Sandy tightened the belt of her robe, picked up the lamp and placed it back on the table. “The boys would never hurt me—not if they want any healing time with my magic hands.”

  Don’t think about her hands, Jason warned himself.

  “I guess she’s right.” Curt eyed him with suspicion.

  If he knew his sister at all, he’d figure it out. But J sensed she kept her family at a distance, kind of like J did the McBain clan.

  “Most of the boys are wrapped around her little finger,” Curt added to Decker.

  Great, just what J did not want to hear. She led all the guys around like lost puppies. Touch me, heal me … make love to me.

  He needed out of here.

  “I’ll take a walk and give you three some privacy,” he said.

  “Oh no, you won’t.” Sandy grabbed his arm. He stared at her fingers, but she didn’t let go.

  “It’s cleanup time, Stripper.” She smiled.

  She knew the name grated on his nerves. She was torturing him, having fun.

  “Right.”

  In complete silence, the four of them picked up books, righted picture frames and put trinkets back where they belonged. He wondered where she got this stuff: little statues of dolphins, angels and cats. She would have been safer to keep ceramic cats as her only pets. She wasn’t kidding about the bipolar Madame.

  “Now do you believe me?” she asked.

  They all looked at her, but she was eyeing Jason. “About the cat?”

  “Hell, she’s worse than bipolar. She’s maniacal,” Jason said.

  Sandy, her brother and wanna-be boyfriend burst out laughing.

  “What?” he said, defensive.

  She pointed to the floor where the crazed cat was weaving between his legs, purring and flirting.

  “You!” he said, pointing.

  The cat raced into Sandy’s bedroom.

  “Now you blew it,” Decker said.

  “Nah,” Jason said. “She’s one of those females that likes to play the game—flirt, tease, and rip you apart, then she’s back for more.” He locked eyes with Sandy. Is that what they were going to do to each other? Rip each other apart? No, he wouldn’t let it happen. He’d leave first because he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her.

  “You know a lot about women, huh?” Curt tossed a pillow at Jason, who caught it and placed on the couch. “I know enough.”

  “You can never know enough,” Curt said. “Trust me, I’ve been married eight years.”

  “Nine,” Sandy corrected.

  “Feels like twenty-nine.”

  She threw a magazine at him.

  “Hey! We’re supposed to be cleaning up,” he protested.

  “Be nice,” she scolded.

  “I am nice. I broke in to protect your honor, didn’t I?”

  “Thanks, big brother.”

  “What about me?” Decker asked.

  Was that a pout on his face?

  “You, too.” She walked over and kissed Decker on the cheek.

  J squeezed a picture frame between his fingers. The bastard better not enjoy that kiss too much. There was no way he was having her like J had her last night. No way in hell.

  J glanced at the frame in his hand, the glass splintered from one end to the other.

  “Guess the cat ruined this one.” He placed it on the bookshelf.

  “Shoot.” Sandy walked over to it and stroked the glass with her fingers. “Mom got me this frame from the school craft fair.”

  “You can replace the glass,” Curt offered.

  “I know of a place that does custom framing. I can get you a deal,” Decker added.

  Jason was going to be sick. “I’m taking a walk.” He nodded at Curt, then Decker. He started for the door.

  “You’re coming back, right?” Sandy said.

  The hope in her voice made him turn around and search her eyes to gage her meaning. She glanced nervously at Curt, then Decker, then eyed Jason. “I am responsible for you.”

  Responsible, right, her job as a BAM employee. Was last night her job as well? Keep the talent happy? Oh, no, that had been her little experiment in unleashing the sexual dynamo that lived beneath the faded jeans and tie-dye shirt.

  “I’ll be back.” He snatched his leather jacket off a chair and left.

  Get focused. Remember why you’re here. He pulled the cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched the speed dial.

  “Totem.”

  “It’s McBain.”

  “Hey, man, what the hell? Meek’s been asking about you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d better talk to him.”

  A few seconds passed, and his supervisor came on the line.

  “Agent McBain, I heard you were brought in by the Feds for questioning,” Meek’s nasal voice squawked.

  “I was set up.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I didn’t know Spike Hatskill was part of the organization,” J said. “Would have been nice to know ahead of time.”

  “You think he set you up for the arrest?”

  “Possibly.”

  “And the girl you’ve been targeting?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  No, I didn’t make passionate love to her all night long. No, I’m not starting to care for her. No, she can’t be a criminal.

  “She didn’t have the opportunity to set me up, sir.”

  “I want you to bring her in.”

  J squeezed the phone. “Why?”

  “Bring her in. We need movement on this one. Not only is our perp still supplying, but he’s setting you up for fun and you haven’t a clue who he, or she, is.”

  Sandy, handcuffed and brought in for questioning? She wouldn’t be able to return to BAM, not while the investigation was underway. It would kill her to be ripped from her pro wrestling family, not to mention J still believed, on some level, that she was innocent.

  “Arresting her is a bad idea, sir,” J said. “It won’t help us catch the leader.”

  “So you think she’s simply a distributor?”

  What could he say? “Possibly. Not definite. She distributes something, but Hicks hasn’t gotten back to me on the com
position.”

  “But it’s drugs.”

  “I think so. Yes, sir.”

  “Bring her in.”

  “After I confirm with the lab.”

  “I could order you to bring her in.”

  “Which would blow my cover.”

  “She wouldn’t be allowed to return to the wrestling show. No one would know.”

  “She’s not only an employee, her family is part of this business. The entire business is one big family. Unless you lock her up, they’d all find out.”

  Silence. Shit, why give the jerk ideas?

  Lock her up? Isolation. Loneliness. No mother to set her up on blind dates, no big brothers punching out her boyfriends.

  Is that how J thought of himself? As her boyfriend? One thing was for damned sure: He was feeling an awful lot like her protector.

  “I’d like to finish this the proper way, sir. Let’s wait for the lab results,” Jason pressed.

  Silence.

  Four, five, six seconds. Meek thrilled at being dramatic.

  “And if it’s not steroids?” his supervisor said.

  “What do you recommend, sir?” Great strategy. Seek advice from The Great One’s miniscule brain. Cater to his ego.

  “Stick with her,” Meek ordered. “You’ve already got her softened up, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” She was soft, warm, and beautiful.

  “Good. Then she’ll remain your mark. Report back in forty-eight hours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead.

  Okay, he’d bought a few more days. For what? To prove her innocence, because he sensed deep in his gut that she was an innocent, good-hearted woman who wanted to heal, not hurt. How could he possibly know this? He just did. End of conversation with self.

  But he had to prove it to be sure, and to keep her safe.

  He doubled back to her place and stood outside, staring at the balcony, the same balcony where she found him hiding this morning—hiding from himself, bastard that he was. He didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye, but knew he shouldn’t stay. He thought she’d wake up with hope in her eyes and love in her heart. Instead, she’d awakened with a newfound independence and power.

  Because of his lies.

  “You really are a bastard,” he muttered, climbing the stairs to her place.

  Okay, time to focus on the plan: be polite to her big brother and wanna-be boyfriend, get them to leave, and force her hand by asking point-blank for the little white pills she so freely handed out to wrestlers.

  He got to her door as the guys were trying to fix the lock. “I need my tools,” Curt said, turning to leave. He came face-to-face with Jason. His jaw hardened and he blocked the doorway.

  “Jack the Stripper, huh?” he said.

  Jason held his position. Didn’t answer.

  “Well, Stripper, I’m not thrilled with the arrangements, but I know I can’t change my sister’s mind about anything so I won’t waste my breath. You should know, however, that if you hurt her in any way—”

  “You’ll kill me,” J finished for him.

  Curt smiled. “That, too.”

  He brushed past him with enough force to make J take a step back. Decker followed, puffing out his chest as if to add, “What he said.”

  J suddenly knew why the Madame wanted to rip off Decker’s hairpiece.

  “She’s taking a shower,” Curt added over his shoulder. “I told her to lock the door and put her hope chest in front of it.”

  “And the cat’s in there with her,” Decker warned.

  “Got it,” J said.

  “We won’t be gone long,” Curt called from a few steps down. “I hope to get the door fixed in a couple of hours. Speaking of which, she’s got stuff in the fridge. I’ll have a turkey sandwich on wheat, hold the mayo.”

  Was he kidding?

  “I’ll have roast beef,” Decker added.

  In a second J was going to clock them both. Big brother chuckled as they disappeared out the front door. J hovered in the hallway. He should stay here, not go into her condo. But there was one last thing to do.

  He crossed the threshold and did his best to put the door back in place. Curt had done a number on it, practically ripping the hinges off.

  That’s what loving a woman does to a guy. It makes him into an animal.

  J’s love wasn’t honorable like a brother’s, though. No, it was desperate and intense and dangerous.

  Time to get this over with. Either catch her with the drugs and take her in, or clear her from his list of suspects. He sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath. If he scratched her off his list, he could move on, find another lead and rid himself of this constant guilt.

  Meek’s words taunted him: You’ve already got her softened up, right?

  Sure he had her softened up, trusting him enough to accidentally slip and give him critical information to help zero in on the perp, and find the bastard who set him up.

  He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. Man, he still couldn’t believe someone had the balls to plant steroids in his duffel. They couldn’t have known he was a cop, right? Or was that the point? Did the guy want to let him know his cover was shot to hell?

  At least the Feds had been cooperative. They went along with the ruse of releasing him into Sandy’s custody, giving him the ability to stay close to her for another few days.

  He wasn’t sure how many days—and nights—he could stand. How would he survive?

  “It’s not that bad,” she said.

  He looked up and his breath caught. She was wearing a tight green T-shirt that read Nature’s Way, and snug-fitting jeans.

  “You don’t look so good.” She kneeled beside him. “Can I get you something?”

  This is it, the chance he’d been waiting for.

  “Nah. I’m worried about not getting to the gym.”

  “Hmmm.” She nodded, searching his eyes to check the dilation.

  “I could use some of your magic pills,” he said, hoping she would just sell him some steroids; he could arrest her and move on.

  “Magic pills?” she said.

  “The little white ones?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, you probably could use a few of those.”

  She went into the bedroom.

  His chest tightened with anticipation. Cuffs, he didn’t have his cuffs. Wait, he couldn’t arrest her for giving him the pills. He had to know what they were first. Damn, why didn’t Hicks call with an answer?

  Did it matter? Jason knew this girl couldn’t be a drug dealer. Listen to your gut, McBain. Or was that something south of his gut that was making the argument?

  She practically floated back into the room, holding a glass bottle of pills.

  “Here.” She tapped two into his palm.

  “If I take these I can work out less, right?”

  “Nothing takes the place of a good workout. You know that.”

  “Nothing?”

  She blushed. Damn, he hated himself.

  “I’ll get water.”

  Humming, she went into the kitchen. He heard the water go on and off. His heartbeat pounded against his chest. This was it.

  Returning, she continued her humming and handed him the glass.

  “Down the hatch,” she said.

  He hesitated, considering how he could palm these with her being so close.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “I was wondering about side effects.”

  “No side effects.”

  “You sure? Because I have some anger issues.”

  “No kidding.” She winked.

  “Are you sure it’s safe for me to take these?” Everyone knew that steroids could inflame a man’s temper.

  “Wait a minute. What, exactly, do you think you’re taking?” She rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Steroids, right?”

  Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart, please tell me I’m wrong.

  I
nstead of answering him, she snatched the pills out of his hand. “You’re a jerk.” She stood and marched into her bedroom.

  What the hell was that about? He heard a crash, followed by a few curse words.

  “What’s going on?” he called.

  More crashing. “Don’t you come in here!” She poked her head around the corner. “Don’t you ever come into my room again without my permission.”

  His heart sank. More crashing, cursing and ...

  “Got it!” her voice echoed. She stormed into the living room and shoved a piece of paper in his face. “Here, this is what I’ve been giving the boys.”

  He read the slip, which listed vitamin B combinations and herbs, some he recognized, some he didn’t.

  “You think I’d give you something that would hurt you, like steroids? You really think I’d do that?”

  He glanced up at her, knowing his answer was critical. “I’m a federal agent.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  She squared off with him. “You’re avoiding the question.”

  What the hell?

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Answer me: Do you believe I’d give you a dangerous drug?”

  He hesitated.

  “What does your heart tell you?” she pressed.

  Her green eyes flared, but not from the intensity of passion. Her eyes seemed lit with determination ... and hope.

  “Sandra, I’m a federal agent,” he repeated.

  “Which means you’re not capable of answering my question?”

  She sat next to him and pressed her hand against his chest, above his heart. “For once, listen to what’s inside. Do you really think I would give poison like steroids to people I care about?”

  People she cared about. It terrified him that he was on that list.

  “Say it,” she said.

  How could he? As a DEA agent he considered the facts and not his gut. Following his gut is what almost gotten Chauncy killed.

  “Jason?”

  He felt the heaviness of her hand against his chest, as if she were seeking to grab hold of his heart.

  “No,” he said.

  “No, what?”

  “I know you couldn’t hurt someone you cared about.”

  But Jason could.

  Keeping her hand against his chest, she slid her other hand to the back of his neck. “Do you trust me?” she asked.